
Book Ea^I^ 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



lotie I^ettersi of a 
iSorman ^rinces^si 




BY 



MARGARET PERKINS 



T&3^'i^ ^j^ 



^1.1^ 






Copyrighted, 1914 

by 

Margaret Perkins, 

Hutchinson, 

Kansas. 



Published by^ 

Crane CBi> Company 

Topeka, Kansas 

1914. 



DEC 28 1914 

'CU388970 



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lobe Hetterg of a iSorman ^rintcsiS 



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IN THE records of the Middle Ages you 
will find no mention of Hersilie, relative and 
ward of William the Conqueror. There was, 
indeed, nothing in the life of this young girl to 
appeal to a chronicler to whom the broken heart 
of a princess can be of no consequence unless a 
kingdom happens to be shattered with it. Her 
name, therefore, seems to have been writ in the 
water of that sea which was probably her grave. 
Just what blood relation Hersilie bore to Wil- 
liam is uncertain. She may have been the 
daughter of Adeliz, the Conqueror's sister ; or 
of one of the half-brothers whom his mother, 
Arlette, bore to the nobleman she married after 
the irregular union of the Norman's parents was 
dissolved by the death of Robert le Diable. She 
was of his household when the famous subju- 
gator reared a royal fortress on the ashes of the 
ancestral seat of an ancient Saxon family con- 
sanguineous to the unfortunate King Harold. 
Elric, the youngest son, was the single survivor 
of the ruthless assault upon his home. With- 
drawing to a natural fastness on his confiscated 
estate, he became a leader of those patriots who 
strove to restore the Saxon dynasty in the person 
of Edgar Atheling. 



It chanced one evening that Hersilie and her 
attendants, overtaken by a midsummer storm, 
were bewildered near the forest retreat of Elric. 
Natural courtesy, seconded by the hospitality of 
his race, impelled the Saxon outlaw to offer the 
shelter of his secret biding-place to the distressed 
strangers. With such courtly grace did he min- 
ister to them as to completely charm his gentle 
guest. And Elric, when he presently conducted 
the party to the castle road, did not attempt to 
dissemble the consciousness that the sweet prin- 
cess was bearing away his heart. 

Safeguarded by a trusted companion of the 
princess, there had been many meetings, and 
plans for marriage and flight were almost con- 
summated before William discovered the at- 
tachment. Elric was a Saxon, and the king's 
active enemy. Moreover, the Conqueror had 
promised Hersilie, instead of a fief, to a Norman 
follower who had rendered distinguished service 
at Hastings. ''You will never see his face 
again," was the sole response to Hersilie's piteous 
pleadings for her lover. 

It would seem that the fragmentary letters 
were composed with no other motive than the 
slight alleviation that comes from translating 
into words the heart's heaviness. The first few 
very faintly hint that the princess hoped her 
beloved was a prisoner in some donjon from 
which he would find means of escape. But, 
judging again from the letters, there gradually 
grew in her heart the conviction that Elric was 
dead. She, too, could die ; but never could she 



become the bride of another. Perhaps she hoped 
that after she had fared forth "in virgin sanctity" 
to find her lover, if that lover still lived, her 
stony guardian might so far soften as to send 
him the pitiful proof of her deathless love. 

Princess Hersilie utterly disappeared on the 
eve of her marriage to the Norman baron. The 
superlatively romantic affirm that Elric returned 
in time to claim his bride. Others are of opin- 
ion that the Saxon was dead, and that his high- 
hearted fiancee preferred death to disloyalty. 
But those more familiar with the social customs 
of that lawless age believe the young princess 
planned to entrust herself to the sisters of Saint 
Lucine; and that in the night journey across 
the bay to the Abbey, her boat was capsized. 

Such, in brief, is the story of this obscure and 
ill-starred young princess as I have heard (or, 
possibly, dreamed) it. 

M. P. 



I THOUGHT once, in a dream, that Love came near 
With silken flutter of empurpled wings 
That wafted faint, strange fragrance from the things 
Abloom where age and season never sere. 
The joy of mating birds was in my ear, 
And flamed my path with dancing daffodils 
Whose splendor melted into greening hills 
Upseeking, like my spirit, to revere. 

But me, alas. Love lingered not to bless, — 

The vision and the glory moved apart. 

A tomb this sorrovz-scented, twilit heart 

That might have known a temple's spaciousness. 

O, in a dream no dawn can nullify 

Love came so very near — and passed me by ! 



AT dawning from his chantry in a tree, 
I heard a mavis singing matinly. 
My heart interpreted his melody : 

"O, little mate! 
Come nestle on this bloomy spray, 
The while I pipe a roundelay 
To celebrate the horning day 
All roseate. 

"Above the green. 
Soft blue impearled with filmy white 
Allures to paths of happy flight ; 
Far westerly retreats the night 
From day's demesne. 

"For you and me 
Love hangs a world in buoyant air, 
And makes the birdling's lot a care. 
O, little mate! The day is fair 
For you and me." 



I HAD this from the beadsman bowed and lame 
Who mumbles prayers in Norman William's name 

Leonatine, as fair as she was good, 

Had entered, by the gate of motherhood, 

The lovely Land of Promise which as maid 

She saw in her chaste dreaming, flower-arrayed 

And all-desirable ; for which she prayed 

In Santa Lia's chapel as the wife 

Of Alfredo. And now, in joyance rife. 

Her soul was soaring with the cherubim 

And singing praiseful paeans unto Him 

Who in sweet, nestling helplessness once pressed 

Soft lips and cheek to Mother Mary's breast. 

And, as in adoration rapt she lay, 

Her thoughts like incense wafting up, they say 

She was aware, though not as with the ear. 

Music ineffable was breathing near ; 

And through the open dormer window came 

A figure luminous as in a frame 

Of light that was not of the moon or sun, 

But was all radiances blent in one. 

For not a moment did she feel afraid. 

Or wonderstruck because an angel made 

The earth-flight for to see so fair a thing 

As was her little one. So, beckoning 

With pretty gesture, spoke she : '*Sire, you came 

Myriad miles to see my babe. Her name 

Is Melicent." And thereupon she drew 

The covering aside that he might view 

The tiny face. The angel looked, and smiled 

Benignantly upon the sleeping child, 

The while one slender, shining finger went 

To lightly touch the brow of Melicent. 



"Thy child is dedicate to God," he said, 
And nothing more. Back-floating from the bed, 
Enwreathed with light and melody he passed 
The casement, smiling blessings to the last. 

The ancient almoner averred she grew 
So winsome, all the little wild things knew 
Her for a friend. The butterfly would light 
Upon her hand ; the whinchat stayed his flight 
For her ; the furry creatures understood, 
And followed when she wandered in the wood. 
Acknowledging her loving sisterhood. 

From lovely childhood to a lovelier youth 
She passed, so sheltered as to scarce feel ruth. 
Of sin and suffering what could she know 
Whose heart was stranger to the ways of woe? 
But oft she pondered in that gentle heart 
The angel's words that destined her, apart 
From life's sweet, common blessedness, to dwell 
In prayer and penance in a convent cell. 

It was the Easter week when Melicent, 
In novice white, across the churchyard went, 
Through Santa Lia's forest to a slough 
Where store of tall ascension lilies grew. 
And whilst she broke the stems, a hooded tern 
Perched near her. From the flock beside a bum 
Sedgy of marge, a snow-white lamb outpressed 
And followed in her footsteps, all unguessed 
Till, blossom-burdened, paused the maid to rest 
Where shyly peeped the fair forget-me-not 
From ferny covert — an enchanting spot. 
The yeanling close beside the maiden crept 
In drowsy confidence, and soon both slept. 



A youngling knight was Giselbert a-quest 

To stain his maiden sword for those oppressed ; 

Wending a weary distance from his hall 

That some high hazarding might him befall. 

What time his charger fed in yonder stall, 

Strolled Giselbert anenst the little glade 

Where slept the snowy lamb and snowy maid. 

His quaky knees he cushioned on the moss 

And piously made symbol of the cross. 

"An angel," murmured he, through lips of pale; 

"A vision blessed as the Holy Grail." 

Never was given mortal man to see 

In any clime a purer trinity — 

Lilies and lamb and lass. In one white arm 

The lilies lay ; the other clasped from harm 

The dainty lamb. Her snooded locks adown 

Their fillet fell and lay upon her gown, 

A burnished wonder. He must see that face 

Fashioned and tinted with celestial grace. 

Unhelmeted and worshiping, he bent 

Above the flower-fair face of Melicent. 

Perhaps she felt his presence ; or a bird 
Shrilling of spring aroused her, for she stirred. 
Oping on Giselbert eyes sleepy -sweet 
And blue as were the blossoms at his feet. 
"Thou art no vision ; may the Lord be praised!" 
Breathed Giselbert. On Melicent he gazed 
So ardently her startled spirit wrote 
A rose response on brow and cheek and throat. 
"Sweet maid of mystery, here ends my quest," 
Quoth Giselbert; "this throbbing heart would rest 
Within thy tranquil bosom. O'er three shires 
Fare thou with me where shine the stately spires 



Of my chateau. God, whose liege knight I "be, 
Most graciously has led me unto thee. 
O, peerless lady, say not *Nay' to me!" 

A-flutter like a fettered bird she turned 

Her eyes from his that through her being burned 

So strangely. Then, '*Sir Knight," she sadly said, 

"Nor thee nor any other may I wed ; 

My baby brow has known the sacred seal 

That consecrates to God. I must be leal. 

A few weeks hence, at holy Whitsuntide, 

Must Melicent become the Church's bride." 

''That shall not be," cried Giselbert ; " I sv/ear 

By every filament of sunny hair 

That hath my heart enmeshed, thou wilt not wear 

The sable robe. My men shall fell each stone 

Of yonder cloister till I have mine own." 

Day after day went Giselbert to woo 
The gentle girl until her love so grew 
That she forgot her vow. So they were wed, 
And, darkling, to the lordly castle fled. 
Where Melicent was mistress scarce a year 
Before she stood beside her husband's bier. 

Each morning crept the stricken bride to lay 
Her head upon the sepulcher and pray, 
"God, pardon him whose love for me was stain 
So foul that Thou didst punish us amain." 

Once, when her pallid cheek had pressed the mold 
From dawn until the evening dew was cold 
And dankish on the golden, humbled head, 
One seemed to say, "Sad heart, be comforted" — 



A being clad in radiance that streamed 
From where the firstling lamp of evening beamed. 
"O, Sire, what of my darling can you tell?" 
She questioned ; and he answered, ''It is well 
With Giselbert, and with thee it is well." 
"With me, whose heart is like a withered leaf 
Driven and shattered in the gale of grief?" 
"Yet," interposed the angel, "once it knew 
The sun's warm kiss ; the coolness of the dew." 
"My heart is like an ember cold and gray," 
Moaned Melicent, and heard the angel say, 
"A moment in the breath of love it glowed." 
"My heart," she wailed, "it is a seed one sowed 
To fail of fruitage." O, as sweet and low 
As soul-sensed melody, his answer : "Know 
Thy heart night-dark, untenanted, a seed 
Of which the master Husbandman has need. 
He sows the broken heart from which upspring 
The leaves of healing for life's suffering. 
The blossom of the broken heart is cheer ; 
Its perfume, love enwafted far and near ; 
Its priceless fruit is sweet compassion's tear. 
The sad, the sick, the sinful for thee wait — 
The broken heart to God is dedicate." 

The beadsman said that Melicent returned 
To Santa Lia with a heart that yearned 
Love-needy folk to comfort ; and that she 
Was noted for her ceaseless ministry 
Unto the sorrowful and indigent. 
"I serve because I love," said Melicent. 



1 DREAMED, dear, yesternight, you came for me — 
Not soul in search of soul, but loverwise — 
Your lips upon my tresses reverently. 
The holy flame of passion in your eyes, 
And tenderly entreated, "Love, arise." 
And gladsomely I let you lead me, all 
My senses thrilling with the sweet surprise ; 
Yet palpitant with terror lest the fall 

Of fleeing feet disturb some sleeper in the hall. 

Almost as cognizant, its gracious aid 
The midnight forest lent to you and me : 
No dusky form, or eldritch wail dismayed ; 
But friendly little gossips in the tree 
Awoke to peer and twitter drowsily 
On limbs that lightly wavered to and fro 
To sift the moon through leafy canopy. 
Fair, phantom light, as golden as the glow 

Of other happy moons that waned so long ago ! 

Your woodland lodge we gained, with columbine 
Compassionate and ivy half concealed ; 
And incense-sweet with honeysuckle vine. 
Dew-dank and weary, on the hearth we kneeled 
And with the sacred nuptial taper sealed 
Our love as at an altar. When its beam 
Shone softly through the shadows and revealed 
The face of each to other, by that gleam 

Your soul I saw. O, love of mine, it was a dream ! 



WHO wisely bide 
Upon the crests of happy hills ; 
Whom winds enclasp and sunshine thrills, 

Are fortified 
Against the siege of pensive shade 
That makes the lowlanders dismayed. 

Who scale the heights, 
Reflect the flush of nascent day. 
And in its last refulgent ray 

Are beckoning lights 
To whom I raise revering eyes — 
I who am neither brave nor wise. 



BEFORE you came, this heart of mine 
A fairy garden seemed 
With lavender and eglantine ; 

And lovely lilies gleamed 
Above the purple-pansy sod 
Where ruthless passion never trod. 

Now, autumn bleakly broods^where vines 

With lifeless tendrils cling ; 
Like tears the falling leaves ; the shrines, 
Bat-sought, are crumbling. 
A cricket's dirgeful fife is heard 
Where caroled once the April bird. 

Yet, where the shattered censer swings 
The faintest fragrance dwells ; 

The crimson rose's ash upsprings 
In snowy asphodels. 

No change can utterly efface 

What once was Love's abiding-place. 



IF Heaven had been pleased to let you be 
A keeper of the sheep, a peasant me, 
Within a shepherd's cottage thatched with vine 
Now might we know the bliss of days divine : 
At dawn the pilgrim songster's soft salute 
From cloudland where he trills his elfin flute ; 
The marvel of uncouth, familiar things 
Turned gorgeous, like the furnishings of kings, 
In sunrise tint ; the diamonded furze 
Through which to lead your fleecy loiterers ; 
The heavy sweetness of syringa bloom 
At midday, and the glory of the broom ; 
The turning of the sun toward the west 
To seek in distant seas his moisty rest ; 
The benison of twilight, and the bleat 
Of far-off lambs ; the air as honey sweet 
With clover ; and the vesper chant of bees ; 
The sleepy note of nestlings in the trees ; 
The green of earth and rose of sky obsessed 
By stealthy night ; soft sheen of stars ; and best, 
The beat of steps impetuous and near ; — 
Your voice, the comfort of your arms, my dear. 



How shall I name this sense elusive, shy, 
Of joyousness? It is the lightened load 
Of plodding pilgrim as, adown the road 
Rain-drenched and dismal, seems he to espy 
A sunny shimmer ; the assuaging sigh 
When glimpses he, the thirst -tormented one, 
Flaunting defiant frondage to the sun. 
Those desert palms that never draw more nigh. 
'Tis hope of pardon to the guilt -oppressed ; 
And it is rest a mother knows, sob-bought. 
Who croons, in the drear dawn, a lovesome name, 
Her baby dream-enfolded to her breast ; 
Yet, it is but the sweet, seductive thought 
Thou mayst return, one day, thine own to claim. 



LONELY cloud, so frail and fair, 
As you float 
On the drowsy wind up there 

Like a boat 
Drifting, drifting listlessly, 
May I liken you to me? 

* 'Little sister," so you seem 

To reply, 
*'We are part of Heaven's scheme, 
You and I ; 
Child of sunshine and the dew 
I was earthly -bom as you. 

'*Yet my little hour I go, 

Troubled maid, 
Even where the storm-blasts blow, 

Unafraid ; 
Confident that from the sod 
All things upward wend to God." 



AT night, when I am very sad, the sea 
Comes singing to my casement — singing low 
And luUingly as one soothed long ago 
A grieving little child in Normandy : 

"Sleep, little princess. The sun's crimson car 
Has rolled down the hill to the sea. 

Birds from their neighboring nursery are 
A lullaby cheeping to thee : 

'Sleep, for no birdling or babe is afar 
From Him who guards tov/er and tree.' 

"Sleep, little princess. The shepherdess-moon 
Is tending her flock in the sky. 
Silvery star-sheep are peeping, and soon 

A slumbering princess will spy. 
'Sleep, little lambkin,' they'll tenderly croon, 
. 'For love that is sleepless is nigh.' " 



I MARKED a star, as dimmed the day, 
A fair, sweet star that motherly 
The casement's velvet brushed away 
And bent with gentle gaze toward me. 

O, boundless love! As dimmed the day, 

Amidst my amaranth and rue 
I seemed to hear one softly say, 
'My child, I am not far from you." 



DEAR heart, the homing hour is here, 
The task is done. 
Toilers, and they who course the deer 
Turn, one by one, 
At day's demise. 
Where dwells a deathless glow 

In loving eyes. 
I hear them hearthward go 
To castle or to cottage on the lea ; 
But him I love comes never home to me. 



I HEAR 
Such sound as shudders round a bier. 
The wind is fondling in the twilight chill 
Pallid and pulseless leaves that wont to thrill 
If he were near. 

When I 

Insensate and unlovely lie, — 

(My heart forgetful of its deadly hurt) 
Ah, love, shall I be passionless, inert, 
If you come nigh? 



COMES now the birthnight of that baby blest 
Of whom the wise of all the world make quest. 

To Magi it befell 

(Star-summoned from the cell 
Of priestly lore) to seek him in the west. 

At times, when desert-day 

Poured pitiless, moaned they, 
" 'Tis death we seek by sun or scimitar.** 

But when to dusky skies 

They lifted haggard eyes, 
"God leads," they praised, "for yonder hangs his Star." 

From simple shepherds learned they of his birth 
Whom Heaven homaged with exalted mirth — 

The firmament afire, 

And angels in a choir 
Proclaiming, "Peace is come to dwell on earth." 

Aloft careening beast 

The wise ones from the east 
Rejoicing saw the Star stand overhead. 

They found a grotto-place 

Bright with a baby's face, 
And fell, adoring, at his manger-bed. 

Uprose the Star-led, their devotion told 
In gifts of sweetest spicery and gold. 

As easterly they fared. 

The placid herdsfolk stared, 
And faltered out of wondering lips, "Behold!" 

But one, intrepid, ran 

Athwart the caravan : 
"Your faces, stately pilgrims, shine so bright ; 

Whence gleams that glory, pray?" 

Benignly answered they, 
"O, brother, we have seen the Prince of Light!" 



WHEN I remember all thy knightly ways 
Thy selflessness ; thy high integrity ; 
Thy warding of the weak ; thy gentle phrase ; 
Ay, all that made the preciousness of thee, — 
Thej'- solace me. 

When I recall thy valor's halberd-beat 
On adamant ; thy fortitude in long 
Misfortune, and disdain to feel defeat ; 
Thy pride in stainless honor, scorn of wrong, — 
It makes me strong. 

And when in every scourged sense I feel 
The healing recollection that I had 
Thy peerless love, — to me thou didst reveal 
Thy soul in regal gold and purple clad, — 
Then am I glad. 



THE peaks that rift the saffron sheen 
Of sunset skies 
In purple loveliness, when seen 
By nearer eyes, 
Are bleakly bare. 
To brave those boulders gray 

No climbers dare. 
O, in some future may 
This mountain mass of unfulfilled desires 
Be unto me as yonder haloed spires ! 



So sweet the wordless prophecy these bring : 
The fair and ancient augury unscrolled 
With every leaf of grass that pricks the mold 
To flutter in the pageantry of spring ; 
The miracle of cherry-blooms that fling 
A wondrous whiteness, like a wedding veil, 
Round dreary boughs late grieving to the gale ; 
The message of the moth's aspiring wing 
From chrysaloid restraint and darkness freed. 
Their meaning mute I sensed, ah, long ago : 
"The law of life ye see in us who wane 
And wax to loveliness." No smallest seed 
That sleeps and quickens underneath the snow 
But whispers, "Thy beloved lives again." 



THOU art my hearths desire. 
I like to think, when clustered round the throne 
The singing stars, and all the heavens were strown 
With melody, unto thy voice alone 
God tuned my spirit's lyre. 

How knew I thy dear face? 
Before He set this earthy sphere a-spin 
God said, "Each soul thereon shall be a]!twin ; 
The other's likeness I will etch within 

The heart's most secret place." 

And when I go to thee 
Who watch unweariable where souls upfleet, — 
Dear love, the worship in thine eyes to meet! 
And hear, *'I knew thou wouldst so come, my sweet, 

In virgin sanctity." 



ALAND of leal there is, I know, 
(Anear God's throne it lies.) 
A place pervaded with the glow 

Of joyful lovers' eyes 
Forever cleansed from teary stain 

And dimness of despair ; 
Where, dearest, we shall meet again. 
And I shall know thee, there. 

Sometime, beyond the cruel reach 

Of arrogance and state, 
We two will wander on that beach 

Where severed spirits mate. 
And I shall clasp thee in that blest 

And beauteous otherwhere ; 
Upon thy bosom find my rest, 

For I shall love thee, there. 



